


Bahvapatya

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Prophecies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 05:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: A fortune-teller reads the futures of two queens, years apart.The results are...mixed.





	Bahvapatya

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllegoriesInMediaRes (AllegoriesInMediasRes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/gifts).



At first Tara makes the mistake of assuming the kingdom of Kuntala an easy stop. Certainly the King is easy enough to place. From the scars on his shoulders and the cynical cast to his eyes, she divines that he did not grow up amongst the lavish surroundings he enjoys; from the callouses of his knuckles and the corded muscle of his arms, she claims with confidence that he is not a man to rest at his leisure.

The young prince is no more difficult, being young enough that platitudes will suffice. Tara peers at his palm, hems and haws appropriately, and is able to promise wealth and fame. Why, the line that indicates the path of his life is set at an angle? That do does bode a reversal of fortune, or a slide towards problems and poverty, as other practitioners of her art might worry; why instead it indicates a change in mind, a growth in perspective. Wisdom is a fine attribute for a future king to possess, Your Majesty. No need to fret.

So does Tara prove the proverb that there is nothing so dangerous as a self-satisfied soothsayer. She is nodding mildly to the Queen’s musing that all Kuntala’s hopes are laid upon Jayasena, as her only child, when Tara finds her mouth opening and her own voice speaking: “Not your only. In time there will be—“

She breaks off, horrified. She has not made a true prophecy in years, having long since realized it causes trouble more often than not; but it is too late to take back her words now. The Queen is smiling at her, utterly unsurprised, and Tara wonders how long she must have laid in wait for just such a mistake.

The Queen is a dangerous predator indeed, Tara concludes.

“Not my only,” the Queen repeats. “Very well. Another boy?”

Tara accepts the inevitable, and opens herself to the future. True fortune-telling is always so much _simpler_ than false, so that Tara is tempted as ever to lose herself in the years to come. Her mother had, after all, and her grandmother before. She knows the danger well.

“A daughter,” she says at last. “The future of your kingdom: it will rise and fall with her. She will draw together her countrymen and -women, and ensure Kuntala’s name is known forever.

The Queen frowns, considering this. She would, of course, be clever enough to realize that none of these are necessarily good things. “A heavy destiny,” she says. “It falls to me to make sure she is well prepared for it.”

“As best you can in what time you have,” Tara blurts again, before clapping a hand over her mouth in utter horror. The Queen does not shout or take offense, however; instead she closes her eyes for a long moment, resigned.

“Then it is her brother who I must set such a task,” the Queen concludes, “and pray they both have the strength to bear it.”

*

One would have expected that particular interlude to cure Tara of any desire to tell the fortunes of royalty. One would be wrong.

In fairness, it is not entirely her doing. She had thought that, having left Kuntala and its too-clever Queen begins, she would be free to return to older, safer practices. Mahishmati is busy enough that one more soothsayer goes easily unnoticed, and for some years, this is quite true. Again Tara becomes almost complacent—that is, until a woman draped in a well-made but practical _saree_ requests a private reading. One, though Tara does not realize it until it is much too late, is to take place in the inner apartments of the Royal Palace.

The halls of Mahishmati might have been designed exactly in contrast to those of Kuntala: Kuntala’s rooms are wide and white and open, while those of Mahishmati are gold and grand. Upon one of the blood-red settees, a woman reclines: lovely and lethargic and almost three months gone with child. Tara swallows.

The expectant mother smiles at the woman sent to collect Tara. “I thank you for indulging my whim, sister.” They look nothing alike, these two; she must refer to a kinship by marriage rather than by blood.

Even as she thinks this, the reclining woman—the _Queen_ —dismisses her sister-in-law with the barest wave of her hand before turning all her attention upon Tara.

“We have heard,” she says without preamble, “of your skills. But I have little interest in hearing your appraisal of my maids’ trivial affairs: there are,” she indicates her belly, “more important issues to consider.”

“I—I—“ Tara stammers like the worst of fools, “I read palms, Your Majesty, and as that cannot be done, shall I return when—“

“Read mine instead,” The Queen commands, all heat and haste, and reluctantly Tara bends forward.

The life-line is as short as she dreads, but she bears the marks of rising fortune and the blessings of the sun. That will have to do, Tara decides, except what emerges is: “The son you bear will be his mother’s death and his mother his own.”

The Queen’s face tightens with displeasure; she grasps Tara’s wrists. “You lie,” she snaps. “Tell me you lie.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, I meant nothing by it, forgive me—“

The Queen’s temper cools instantly. “You will not speak of this, and neither shall I,” she says. “So shall your crime be forgiven.”

Tara bows her head, no longer  trusting her voice, and backs towards the door. There she finds the woman who had found her at first, who—she squints—is with child herself. Tara wonders suddenly how much the plainer woman had overheard, but when the woman smiles kindly at her, it does not matter.

Tara is so relieved that she babbles, “Your son will be a mirror of his mother;” and hopes that will be enough to secure her escape.

There are other kingdoms where she might practice her arts, after all, and queens far less dangerous.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is Sanskrit for that fortune-telling concerned with progeny.  
> Tara is an original character; her name, of course, means “star” which seems appropriately celestial for a seer—however, she shares little of the foresight of her namesake from the _Ramayana._


End file.
